Nothing but Water for the Longest Time
by JinxedSydney
Summary: At first, she'd left to flee the whispers. Let it be known that she was off exploring new lands. Leave the rumors to die: the defender of the north was off to conquer in her king brother's name. The princess of Winterfell had run away from marriage to a lord. The Night King Slayer had no place in the Six Kingdoms among mortal men.
1. Chapter 1

_Yup. I'm one of the unsatisfied GoT customers. So I will dream my dreams. *As always, no swearing, no dangling body bits, or nekkid parts.*_

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At first, she'd left to flee the whispers. Let it be known that she was off exploring new lands. Leave the rumors to die: the defender of the north was off to conquer in her king brother's name. The princess of Winterfell had run away from marriage to a lord. The Night King Slayer had no place in the Six Kingdoms among mortal men.

Arya let the sea breeze caress her cheek like a lover as they slid into port. Yes. Let the rumors die.

It'd all been for nothing anyways. The scars she bore. Jon's secret. Sansa's determination. Bran's loss of humanity. The Starks were pulled apart as soon as they'd been made whole. It seemed that destiny was a cruel mistress to the pack. All Arya had ever wanted was sit with her sister and brothers at Winterfell's hall, if only for a season.

But the vast open waters taught Arya that fate is fickle and luck is fleeting. The old gods or the new ones flipped a coin and so fell Westeros to the Mad Mother of Dragons. The Starks were once again torn asunder, like discarded Cyvasse pieces, rolling with each pitch and wave of the Sunset Sea.

"It's much warmer here, Captain," said Paulo, a boy no more than ten and one. He hovered like a ghost at her elbow for the past year, learning to scrub the deck, mind the ropes, scamper the mast. Every night, he fell asleep on the floor of her cabin, eyes drooping until his breathing evened out while she told him Old Nan's stories.

Arya had shed her furs some hours ago. "We are lucky to make land before any bad weather."

"I 'eard this spot has storms that'll break a ship in two." His lithe fingers clutched the rail near her own hands. The wind whipped his reddish-brown curls from their leather binding. He never heard her nightly whispers, "Good night, Rickon."

"That's why it's called Shipbreaker Bay."

"Aye," the little one breathed, craning his head upwards to the castle. "And that's Storm's End?"

She clenched her teeth and let out a slow breath. "It is. What do you remember about Storm's End?"

Behind her, Arya could hear the crew move in tandem with each other, calling out the lines and dropping anchor. Her eyes were solely for the sheer stone walls, a massive turret barely visible high above.

"It is the seat of the Stormlands. They had to eat dogs and rats once."

Arya laughed and ruffled the boy's hair. "And their sigil?"

The chains rattled against the hull as the anchor dropped into the bay. The boards vibrated against her knees, and her smile melted into a passive face. _Swift as a deer. Quiet as a shadow. Fear cuts deeper than swords._

Let the rumors kindle: the deserter of the North couldn't return to her home. The princess of Winterfell would die a maiden. The Night King Slayer had no place in any land.

Paulo babbled about the Storm's End sigil, along with their house history. She'd been careful to avoid any current information, other than the lord's name.

"Does he look like his uncle, Captain?"

Arya looked down to the kid, who stared back with saucered brown eyes. "It is said that he does."

"The men say that he used a war hammer, like his father the king."

Before she could answer, Paulo was called below deck. The crew functioned with precision, minus their captain. They knew when she was not to be disturbed, even when she was among them.

It came as no surprise when a crow landed on the railing and turned its three-eyed face toward her.

"My lord and King brother," Arya said. Her lips curved up. "I suppose this will have to do until I reach Kings Landing." The crow cawed twice. "You already know my intentions, where I'm headed and why. I'll make sure to send an actual raven, though." She laughed when the crow made to peck at her hand.

Her brother, the crow, turned toward Paulo, who scampered across the deck with a clean coat for the first mate.

"He reminds me of Rickon," Arya whispered. "I know it's wrong to suppose, but I felt like I had part of our family with me at sea."

Bran flapped and lifted away, tilting and lifting on the winds.

Paulo approached with her leather jerkin. "Captain, they'll be lowering you down, now."

"Would you like to come with me?"

He stammered sounds, unable to string two words together.

"Come, little man," she said, tugging on her formal attire. "You've never seen an actual castle. I'm certain that this one has the highest walls you've ever seen."

"Built with magic," he finally burst, nervously laughing. He slapped both grubby hands over his mouth.

"Go fetch your shoes. Hurry up." Arya felt as light as her brother on the breeze watching Paulo race to their cabin. She crossed the deck. Paulo skidded behind her as she stepped into the dinghy. Arya held out her hand to help the boy in. He clutched her fingers until the boat bumped into the dock. And she didn't mind.

The contingent on land flew the Baratheon banner above their huddle. Arya waited while her men moored the boat. _Quick as a snake. Calm as still water. Fear cuts deeper than swords._ It was only when a familiar face stepped forward that she allowed her shoulders to relax.

"My lady Captain." A weathered hand extended toward her.

"Ser Davos," she replied, using his hand out of politeness. "I certainly did not expect to see you under the stag banner.

He laughed and dropped her hand. "Your grace, I am pledged to your house and to our king. I just happened to be here trying to help the new lord with his fleet when your direwolf graced our horizon."

Arya fell into step alongside the Master of Ships for the Six Kingdoms. "And how fares the King?" She refused to take the more obvious path Davos baited her with. That man would soon enough appear before her. Or, rather, she before him. She heard Paulo's faltering pace behind her.

"Your brother, the King, is … adjusting to his role. He has wisdom and knowledge enough, but lacks the experience." The Onion Knight motioned for her to continue toward waiting horses. "As his small council, despite our bickering, we do our best to help in any way."

"Bickering. You mean squabbling like nags?"

Davos' laughter startled the horses. "Something like that, lady Captain."

Arya motioned for Paulo and pulled him up behind her in the saddle. The way he gripped her waist, she knew he'd never ridden before.

"And who is this young Ser?" Davos smiled at her passenger.

She cast a glance over her shoulder. "Answer when you are asked a question." She felt Paulo straighten against her back.

"M'name's Paulo, Ser."

"Master Paulo. It has a grand sound, that name." Davos pulled his steed even. "Where do you hail from, Master Paulo?"

Arya remembered the way Davos worked with the children at Winterfell, teaching them with care and tenderness. He reminded her of her father in that way.

"Gin Alley, Ser."

"You don't say! I was born and raised there myself!"

Paulo shifted. "But, Ser, you are a knight."

Davos chuckled. "Young master, I'm but the son of two poor crabbers. It is only by a ship full of onions that I became a knight." He held up his hand, wiggling the stumps of his missing fingers. "I made bad choices as a lad. Now, I can read and write. I'm the Master of Ships to King Bran the Broken. Do you know your letters?"

Arya kept her eyes on the winding road carved into the cliffside. How had the lord of Storm's End learned his letters? The two messages she'd received were safely tucked into a small pocket near her ribs.

_Arya I was stupid I am sorry_

_Arya you were right_

Slanted and spotted, she had no doubt that he'd penned the papers himself, asking for help with only the spelling. The second one troubled her most nights.

Her expedition to search new lands ended on the far side of the Sunset Sea, on land more wild than the Wolfswood, snarled in trees and vines, but teaming with food.

As soon as her crew had hunted and dried meat and filled their barrels with clean rain water, they turned northward, only to be halted three days later when an illness ravaged the crew, killing half of them. How little Paulo had survived was a miracle.

Defeated and fighting the winds to return home to replenish the deckhands, she'd taken it as a sign from the Many-Faced God when Lord Baratheon's raven found their ship.

"Aye. The Captain taught me herself." Paulo's grip loosened.

"Good lad. You pay attention to your Captain and you'll find yourself astride a fine steed of your own." Ser Davos caught Arya's attention and nodded.

"Or my own ship," the boy mumbled into her back.

Even Arya couldn't stop her smile.

"Your grace," Davos started, until she leveled her gaze. "Captain Stark. His grace requests your presence once we reach Storm's End. In private, if you please." His kind blue eyes pled for her for understanding.

Arya nodded once. She strangled the reins with both hands. It took every ounce of willpower to blow out a slow breath, gather her thoughts, and build her walls. She wasn't right. And he wasn't wrong. Stupid and useful, but never wrong. And in need of an explanation.

"His grace is a quick learner," Davos continued. "He has a long ways yet, but he's already started the trade routes again."

She didn't react, but listened to every word the Master of Ships spilled. Storm's End's coffers were filling for the oncoming winter. Envoys regularly traveled to and from the castle. Residents returned with the promise of work. He was even training proper blacksmiths himself and forging weapons for the depleted armories of the Six Kingdoms.

"And he's also sent a shipment to your sister, the Queen of the North."

"He is fortunate to have a teacher so diverse as you are, Ser Davos."

"I think he's driven by the past. Like a demon is chasing him, daring him to fail."

The last switchback revealed the thick gates were wide open. "I doubt that Lord Baratheon will fail." And she meant every word, despite the way she ruled her voice to stay monotonous.

The small party crossed the solitary entrance into Storm's End—a wide bridge. Any fall from the stone pathway would bring certain death far, far below. Looming in front of the gray clouds, Storm's End was a massive single building, boasting connected rooftops and covered walkways. Residents peeked out from their open shutters to catch a glimpse of the visitors.

A squire hustled to hold the reins of the horse. Arya slipped down before assistance was offered, and turned to help Paulo down. "You will follow Ser Davos and obey."

"But Captain, where are you going?" Tears pooled in the corners of his eyes. They'd never been apart for over a year.

"I must meet with the lord. But I know this," she said, leaning over to his height. "If you politely ask, Ser Davos will not only get you some clothes that fit, he will tell you about the night he saved this place with his ship full of onions."

Paulo's eyes twinkled and he looked to the knight over his captain's shoulder. Solemnly, the boy nodded his head before slipping away.

Arya followed another guard in the opposite direction. The roar of the waves were swallowed by the dark stone walls. She smoothed her damp hair back along her skull and kept her eyes straight ahead. Salty air swirled through the passages. Arya saw the gaps in the slate roof lines, the rain barrels lined like soldiers underneath them.

She trailed the black clad soldier through twisting paths and hallways until he stopped at an arched doorway. Nodding her thanks, Arya entered the small room as the man before her tugged his jacket at the waist.

"Have you at least learned how to use a fork?" she asked, granting a smile to creep up her cheeks. _Strong as a bear. Fierce as a wolverine. Fear cuts deeper than swords._

"Arya," he breathed.

"Gendry." She hadn't said his name aloud or in her mind in many moons. It was easier to remember him as "Lord Baratheon" or "that blacksmith," as the crew whispered. _The man who fears losing has already lost._

"You look well." His hands flexed into fists at his side, then released.

"Are we really going to do this?"

"Yes," Gendry said, straightening, "we are." His fingernails were smooth but dirty, and a short dark beard made the lines around his eyes deepen. "What did you find beyond the Sunset Sea?"

She shifted from one foot to the other. "Nothing but water for the longest time—"

Gendry took two strides forward and placed both hands on either side of her face. For a second, she recognized his touch in the winds. "I'm so sorry, Arya. I shouldn't have done that. You never wanted to be a lady. But I loved you and I thought I finally could be your family, but I mucked that all up too."

Arya watched his eyes flick back and forth between her own. When his hands slid away, she kept his gaze, the past tense of his love dragging its daggers down her heart. And she banished the throught.

"You were right to turn me down. I have thought of little else since then. I didn't even have time to get to know you before we …" Pink dashed up his neck to his ears.

"Before we rolled in the hay?" she finished with a grin.

He burst into a wide smile. "Yeah. That."

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_Not sure how often I'll update, but rest assured that I'll stay with this until the end. ~JS_


	2. Chapter 2

_And onto chapter two, brought to you by "Every Other Freckle" by Alt-J_

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"All of the time, people tell me that I look like my uncle." Gendry tipped his wine goblet back for the last gulp. His platter was empty. He'd consented to her request for an empty chamber for dinner. "It's annoying."

"It's better than looking like your fat father."

He grinned at her and his cup thunked onto the wooden table when it landed. "I predict that by tomorrow, there will be ravens. Everyone wants to see the Night King Slayer returned."

Arya stabbed her knife into the table. Gendry chuckled.

"They just want new gossip," she said, pushing a piece of bread into her mouth. Let the rumors burn the city: the defender of the North returned empty-handed. The princess of Winterfell rejected all would-be suitors. The Night King Slayer had _killed_ all of her would-be suitors.

He followed her lead, tearing off a hunk of her bread and popping it into his mouth. "Probably. No one has heard from you in over a year. They all thought you were dead." Gendry refilled his wine. He hadn't asked if she'd received his messages. And she hadn't volunteered to tell him that she had. But she needed to explain why she left. To him, if anyone.

She took a deep breath, gauging his reaction. Gendry peeled off his jacket and hung it on the corner of his chair. The second glass of wine sat untouched. He picked up the pitcher to top her cup, but she waved him off. Still, the words dammed up behind her stuck tongue.

"You _are_ hard to kill. Disappear for years at a time and come back as some type of assassin."

"Braavos," Arya said. She fiddled with the bread. "I was in Braavos."

He scooted back his chair and angled it to face her. "Why'd you go there?"

Her eyebrows shot up. "Didn't have much of a choice."

"And you did what there?"

_Lost myself, was stabbed, nearly died, found myself again._ "Trained to be an assassin." She grinned.

"Why'd you come back?" He leaned toward her, staring with expectation.

_I missed my family. _Arya shrugged. "I needed to leave Braavos."

"That's cryptic. What made you come back from your travels?"

_I missed my family. I missed …_ She pushed her plate away. "Half of my crew died. I needed supplies and men. And they needed some women."

Gendry threw his head back and laughed. When he recovered, he shook his head. "We men are all stupid and driven by few things."

Arya saw her chance and angled her body forward. "Tell me, Lord Baratheon. Spill your secrets."

His smile softened. "If there was anything I learned from your brother, it was that the love of a woman will drive you past the point of reasoning." He inclined toward her. "They will make you furious, fill your mind with nothing else, other than the thought of …"

Gendry suddenly stood. His chair toppled to the floor. Cheeks flushed crimson, he wiped his beard with the back of his sleeve.

Arya rose. She cocked her head sideways. "A roll in the hay?"

He cursed under his breath and righted the chair. "I've had chambers prepared for you."

"How perfectly lordly of you."

"M'lady," he replied, extending his arm in the direction she needed to go.

The castle bustled with guards and people, all in a hurry to evade the side-by-side pair. Every time he'd slow to allow her to walk ahead, she'd pace herself with him. He was more than her equal now. They wound their way up stone stairs, firelight bouncing from torches along the walls, until he stopped in front of a door.

"Your scar has faded." Gendry stared at her forehead. Even while she looked up, she could see his finger twitch at his side. He wanted to reach up and brush that piece of hair from near her brow, the one that always escaped from the leather ties. In equal parts, Arya wanted him to follow through and leave it alone. It was all past tense to him.

And she waited for the witty quip to pop into her mind. But it felt as hushed as a windless day in the middle of the Sunset Sea, filled with nothing but those blue eyes. No, water. Blue water. She ducked to her doorway. Gendry hadn't mentioned a wife yet, probably because he was worried about being stabbed.

"And you have a beard." It was the best she could muster.

He stroked the wiry hairs. "Do you like it?"

"Nope." Arya stepped into the bedroom and slammed the door closed before she made a fool of herself and kissed a man with a beard for the first time. Boots moved away outside of the door.

_Some old wounds never truly heal, and bleed again at the slightest word._ In the magical, ancient seat of the Stormlands, the walls whispered—and she swore it sounded like her father.

Paulo was fast asleep, tucked into a ball on the fur-lined floor. His mouth hung open. Arya laid down on top of her bed, fully clothed. No one slept in flimsy shifts aboard a ship, least of all the only female.

Why had she come here instead of going straight to Bran or Sansa? Foolish, fickle heart. Looking for something lost or a quick rut. Either way, she needed to leave. And she made plans until the Dornish wine pulled her under.

Sleep tormented Arya, unused to a bed that remained motionless. Even opening the shutters to the misty night air had not given her rest. A maid peeked in after the sun rose.

"M'lady. His grace requests your presence to break your fast with him."

Arya's eyes felt gritty. She remained flat on the bed, hearing Paulo stir beside her. "Tell his grace to … I decline. I need to get back to my ship and prepare it for departure."

The blond woman dropped into a curtsy and nodded before disappearing.

Arya and Paulo rounded up their belongings. Efficient and silent. She jostled him and he staggered to the side. He rebounded and tried to shove her sideways. Arya snickered and pinned him to the bed.

She heard heavy, frantic steps in the hallway and pulled Paulo to his feet. A fist pummeled the wooden door twice, then again when she didn't move to answer. It came as no surprise when the door pushed open.

Gendry stepped in. "What do you mean you're departing? You just got here."

Arya swallowed hard. Her mouth went dry. He was clean shaven, every bit the man she remembered, despite the expensive doublet stretched across his chest.

"I need to replenish my ship and my crew. King's Landing will have more experienced hands." She hooked a finger on Cat's Paw at her waist. "Besides, I need to see Bran before he sends a murder of crows to fetch me."

His cheeks filled with air and he blew out a long breath between pursed lips. "I thought you'd stay here awhile before leaving."

A breeze sighed through the open window. _You will marry a rich lord and rule his castle…_

Arya bent down and grabbed her satchel from the ground to shake the whispers, sure that he'd heard them too. "No. It was the first port and we needed food." She was not that girl. She was _not_ that girl.

"Oh." He looked as distraught as the day she'd turned down his proposal. "Can I at least see your ship before you go? Davos has been teaching me about designs, but there aren't many that make it through the bay. I'm interested in the capacity and layout."

"Sure," she said, sliding the strap onto her shoulder. Arya turned to the boy at her heels. "Run and fetch Ser Davos. Let him know that we will be leaving this afternoon. I want you to make sure you learn his story so that you can tell me tonight when we have dinner."

"Yes, Captain." Paulos skirted around Arya, glaring at Gendry, who held the door wide. His ill-fitted shoes scuffed the stones as he left.

"Don't supposed there's much I was say that will make you stay?" he asked after sending a guard ahead for horses.

"I should've gone straight to Bran. I mean, he is the king and all." She adjusted the satchel as they walked. "Though I supposed your wife or betrothed or woman friend probably doesn't appreciate the fact that you haven't introduced us."

"I would, but there's no one to introduce you to." He chuckled and stopped. "Gods. Now I know what you felt like, though. It's like some competition to marry me."

"Your title and money are impressive." Arya kept walking. "You'll have your pick of any maiden."

A strong hand grabbed her arm and spun her around. She leveled her feet, swinging her free fist. Gendry deflected it. His grip tightened around her bicep. He lowered his face to hers, jaw muscles taut. "Don't _ever_ say that again, Arya Stark," he hissed through clenched teeth. "Never."

She relaxed her body and stepped forward. Leaning her head to his chest, the racing thump of his heart battered her ear. He released her arm and dropped his face to her hair. Warm breaths drew even with his slowing heart.

"I won't," she finally whispered. _Some secrets are safer kept hidden. Some secrets are too dangerous to share with those you love and trust_.

It was a quiet ride down the steep switchbacks, punctuated only by the hooves and creaking leather. Gendry left his guards on the dock and sat beside Arya on the quick boat ride to the ship.

"Does she have a name?" he asked, grabbing the rope ladder to climb.

"No."

"That's bad luck! Every ship needs a name."

Arya folded both lips between her teeth to keep from laughing as he cursed the swinging ladder. She scampered up behind him when he'd cleared the rail.

"When has tradition served my family with kindness?"

His eyebrows made his forehead wrinkle when they rose. "Point taken. Lead on."

"I need something from my quarters, so we will start there."

Gendry stooped into the cabin. He kept his head bowed so that it didn't hit the ceiling. "This is your quarters? The captain's quarters?" He could touch both walls if he spread his arms wide. The floors were plain, bedding sparse, and the only decoration on the wall was the dragonglass spear that she'd found on her bed after the first day at sea. He noticed. His eyes lingered on it.

"Yes," she said, tugging out the foot locker from beneath her bed. "It's not meant for a big oaf like you."

He plopped onto her straw mattress and the wooden bed frame creaked in protest.

"Oy! You're going to break it!"

"I'll build you a new one."

"I happen to like this one."

Gendry laughed and nodded to the extra bedroll near her pillow. "Paulo?"

Arya's smile eased across her face and her took a deep breath. "Yes. His father or uncle or whatever stowed him aboard. We didn't find him for a week."

"How's that go?" Gendry leaned forward resting both forearms on his knees. The was a tiny nick on his chin, crusted with a drop of blood. He needed a bath and a haircut, in that order.

Arya yanked the small chest free and twisted the handle. Inside were her spare set of clothes and trinkets she'd collected on the foreign shores.

"He's a tiny boy with a big heart. Sometimes his mouth is even bigger. But the men all agreed to teach him so that he'd have a job each day. And Paulo was keen to please." She found the piece she was looking for and closed her hand around it. She wasn't ready to tell Gendry about Rickon. She'd never be ready for that. "He sleeps here because he still has nightmares. That's how we found him, screaming one night."

"Does he say what he dreams about?"

Arya stilled. "Drogon burning the city and hiding while everyone screamed."

"I don't understand why she did that." Gendry scrubbed his face with both hands. "Some said she wanted to teach them a lesson. Others say she'd become as mad as her father."

"Even if she was, Jon was right in the end. He did it to save the people." It'd only cost him their family. And the woman he'd loved. She wanted to be able to sit with Jon, next to him in silence, and rest her head on his shoulder.

"Your brother is a good man." Gendry heaved a breath. "Have you heard from him?"

"No." She closed the lid and refastened the latch. "Sansa hasn't received a raven either. I'm hoping Bran has seen or heard from him. Or whatever Bran does." She stood and kicked the box back under her bunk.

"Tell me about your ship." Gendry eased up from the bed. Their bodies hovered inches away, swaying with the waves.

She looked up, and because his head was bent down, their noses nearly touched. "It's made of wood. We have eight cannons and two masts."

"Made of wood. Good to know." He smiled. She'd missed of that easy grin.

"Come on. I'll take you below deck."

He placed his hand over the top of her head, bracing his arm against the doorframe. "Good. I'd like to see those cannons."

When she stepped back into the salty air, winds snapped rope ends against the hull. The men called out, "Captain," as she walked toward her first mate.

Robert Stone sat on the six stairs that led to the prow. He twisted two strands of rope in his weathered hands. He pushed the cord away with his boots. Though no more than twenty and eight, he looked as worn as the direwolf figurehead from their travels.

He held the ends fast and stood as she and Gendry cane near. "Captain."

"Robert Stone. May I interrupt you and present Lord Baratheon of Storm's End?" Arya gave a side nod to the man touching her shoulder with his arm.

"My lord," Robert said, bowing low at the waist. "P-please f-forgive me for not sh-sh-shaking your hand."

"It's alright," Arya said. "His grace understands. He's a blacksmith. Or rather, was one."

"Still a blacksmith." Gendry took a step forward. "Can I help you?"

"No th-thank you, your grace. I'll have one of the m-men come over."

Gendry crouched and took hold of the rope. "I'm here. Just tell me what to do."

Arya stepped backwards, watching one bastard instruct another. The irony of one named for the other's father made her smirk. It was only the name of their fathers that separated their fates.

She finally slipped her treasure into her pocket once Gendry's attention was diverted. After it was crammed deep against her ribcage alongside Gendry's messages, she turned to check on the status of the sail repairs. An anguished small cry from the docks carried in the winds.

"Captain! Captain!"

Arya moved aft. She shaded her eyes with one hand to see a lithe boy, curls bouncing as he ran down the dock screaming for her, a couple of soldiers trailing him.

"Captain! Don't leave without me! Please!"

Something in her chest ached and burned, squeezed until she could barely yell back. "I'm not leaving! I'm just showing his grace the ship!"

A black-clad soldier grabbed Paulo's arm, then both, as the boy came nearer to the dock's edge. "Let me go! I can swim!"

"Paulo!" Arya watched from the deck as he thrashed against the soldier. "Paulo!"

"_Valonqar_!" Arya called out, cupping her hands and leaning into the wind. He stilled. She was sure if she were closer, she could see tears on his cheeks.

"Is he alright?" So focused on Paulo, the Faceless assassin didn't hear Gendry until he stood behind her and spoke. "Let's go back before he hurts my men." She could hear the smile in his voice but kept her eyes ashore, trying to keep her desperation from reaching her face.

It felt like hours until they rammed the dock with the dinghy. Paulo bolted forward as soon as the guard released him, and barreled into Arya while she sat in the boat.

She gathered the boy close. His entire body bounced as he sobbed into her chest. "Shh. I will never leave you, _Valonqar_. You are okay, little man." She kissed his hair and rocked him despite the waves.

Her men secured the boat and waited to the side of the dock. Gendry sat next to her, his hip pressed into hers. Always touching her when possible, she noticed.

He leaned down to Paulo's ear. "Young Ser, would you like to eat dinner with your captain and I tonight?"

The lad inched his chin up. Arya smoothed back his damp curls as a drizzle started to fall. "Answer his grace when you've been asked a question."

"Yes, m'lord. I would like to 'ave dinner with the captain." Paulo sniffled and clung to her arm.

"And me? Can I come to dinner, since it's my house?"

"I suppose so, m'lord."

Chuckles ripples through guards and crew alike.

Gendry ruffled Paulo's hair and glanced at Arya. "I like him."

* * *

_Sorrynotsorry for the angst. I just had some brewing in me and needed to let it out to play. ~JS_


	3. Chapter 3

The crows were waiting for the group when they arrived from the docks. An entire murder swooped the gates. No amount of flagging or waving by the guards could deter their incessant racket.

"Bran is summoning me," Arya said, looking to Gendry.

"Yeah, I see that."

"Is it quicker by land or sea?"

Gendry shrugged. "I've always gone on horseback. Davos would know better."

And as if he'd been bidden, the Onion Knight stepped out from a sloping roof. "My lord, my lady." He nodded at the pair. "A message arrived for Captain Stark." Davos approached with a small slip of paper and handed it to Arya.

"What's it say?" Gendry slid from his horse and held his arms up for Paulo.

Arya climbed down from her steed after a quick glance. "It's from Sansa. All it says is 'Come home.'" She handed the message to him.

He squinted at the words. "Well if this is from her, why'd Bran send the crows?"

"Who knows? Davos, do you know anything about the birds?"

The knight shook his head slowly. "No. They arrived soon after the message. I thought it might be a migrating flock."

Just then, the three-eyed raven landed on her saddle.

"No." Arya pointed at the bird. "This is my brother." The raven tried to get the message, pecking her hand, flapping its wings in her face, cawing in her ear. "Stop, Bran!"

The raven quieted, ruffling its feathers.

"Tis faster to Winterfell by sea," Davos said with a nod to the three-eyed raven, who cawed in agreement.

Arya turned to her crew before they dismounted. "Make ready. We sail with the tide." She grabbed Paulo's hand and made haste to grab her belongings.

"Arya!" Gendry shouted behind her. She sped up, Paulo's legs trotting next to her. "Arya!"

She kept moving until a pair of guards lowered their pikes across a doorway. One guard's nostril's flared as he stared down at her. The other man kept his gaze on their lord, who stomped up behind her. The guards resumed their previous position, allowing her passage.

"Paulo, go get our things," she said, motioning toward their room. "Hurry up!" She straightened, turned, and tilted her head to the helmeted men. "You want to do this in front of them?"

"You're not giving me much of a choice, _Captain_." The last word slithered through his clenched teeth.

She swiveled Gendry by the elbow, walking back down the way they'd come.

"At least let me come with you," he said.

"Absolutely not. First off, you're a lord and this," she said throwing her hand wide, "is your castle. You can't up and abandon it _or_ your people."

"It must be important if Bran is here too."

Arya shrugged. "More than likely."

"Then I'll go."

"No, you won't." She crossed her arms. He was being stupid again.

Gendry snorted. "You can't stop me."

"This is ridiculous." She turned back to see if Paulo was coming. Unfortunately, he was not. "You've seen the chaos when a land is stripped of its lord. You've come too far and worked too hard to let them suffer." Arya took a half step forward. Her chin tilted up. "And they will suffer if you leave."

She wanted to slap his stupid face. Or kiss those ridiculous lips before she left.

_A girl says nothing. A girl keeps her lips closed, no one hears, and friends may talk in secret. Yes?_

Arya turned her ear back to the passageway for Jaqen's footsteps. But the wind blew her hair into her eyes.

"Please, Arry, give me another chance. I know I messed it up back at Winterfell. I was so excited that we'd be equals and I could finally offer something to you." He gently latched onto her arms with both hands. Those blue eyes switched back and forth, trying to catch her.

Arya shrugged free. "That's the problem. I never saw you as anything other than my equal, Gendry. Even when we were kids."

His hands fisted at his sides. "You don't know what it's like to grow up starving. Being beaten. Having to work every day just to eat."

"You don't know me."

"You never let me know you!" His voice boomed down the stone hallway.

She shifted from one foot to the other. "Believe me, you don't want to know me," she murmured. "I am no one."

He threw up his hands. "Why do you do that? How come you get to tell me what I want and I don't get a choice?"

"Not everyone gets to choose."

"And you get to make my choice in this matter?" He scrubbed his face with his hands and his cheeks puffed out in a sigh. "Fine. What do you want for me?"

She tilted her head. Gave a small fake smile. "Make swords for Sansa. Get married. Haves lots of babies."

"With you."

_Is the girl ready to give up her ears, her nose, her tongue, her hopes and dreams, her loves and hates, all that makes a girl who she is, forever?_

Arya bowed her head, held her breath, and counted to three. "No," she whispered. "You would hate me."

He shouted curses into the echoing hallway, then rammed his fist into the stones. It came away shredded and bloody.

Paulo appeared, hands clapped over his ears. Arya signaled for him to come to her. "Say goodbye to Lord Baratheon, _Valonqar_."

"Goodbye, m'lord," the boy whispered from behind his captain's waist.

Gendry knelt, hiding his injured hand. "Good luck to you Ser. We will have to have dinner another time." He straightened and extended his hand, blood dripping. "Captain."

His hand was warm and calloused. She knew she shouldn't do this, crush him again, but she wasn't going to be holed up in a castle popping out heirs. He would eventually hate her murderous, black heart—the same one that still lamented not dropping the ceiling on Cersei herself. She stared at his eyes, burying any argument her heart made. "Lord Baratheon." Even her training couldn't control the wobble in her voice.

A single guard accompanied her and Paulo back to the docks, where two dinghies rowed back and forth, laden with barrels and parcels. The winds had picked up, rolling slate gray clouds overhead. The men labored against the oars.

Robert Stone acknowledged her with a quick nod. "Captain."

"Did you pay for the provisions?" She'd leave coin laying on the deck rather than have a debt hanging over her head.

"Aye." He ordered the last of the crates onto the boat. "I'll take the boy and be back for you." He scooped Paulo into the boat and shoved off before the little one could protest.

Arya turned her face toward the sheer black walls protecting Storm's End. Endless cloud cover pushed eastward, growing darker and heavier. Like her heart. Sansa could wait a few more days. She shouldn't leave.

_"A minute. An hour. A month…"_

The rest of Jaqen's words ripped away.

She filled her lungs with the heavy air and dropped her head. "Do it, you coward," she whispered to herself.

Reaching into her hidden pocket, she retrieved the object next to Gendry's notes. She'd only remembered on the ride down, when it poked into her ribs. Even through the clouds, the black stone glinted its flecks of colors: orange, yellow, green. She and Paulo found the beauty when they cleaved open a part of a chalky white rock in the land far away. The pair had gathered a bag of broken bits and pieces, but she held the largest in her hand. They'd spent many nights rubbing the rock against a whetstone to reveal the fascinating colors.

She'd intended to give the stone to Gendry herself. It was almost the size of her palm, doubly as thick. He could've presented it to his intended. Or used it for his treasury. And finally having visited Storm's End, Arya held up the stone in the air, one eye closed. It reminded her of the castle high above, black with flecks of colorful life under its covered passages.

The soldier still waited at the end of the pier with the horses. The first drop of rain hit the back of her hand as she held up her treasure. "Take this to Lord Baratheon." She reached in and folded his messages tight. "And these."

"Do you have a message, m'lady Captain?"

Rain started to fall in earnest, plastering her hair to her forehead. She swiped it back. There were a thousand things to tell him. And there were none. Nothing that he'd actually listen to. She'd sailed back here and struck the tinder with flint.

"Tell him …" Streams of water ran from her chin as the rain picked up. Robert Stone yelled for her back down on the dock. "Tell him …" A gust of wind made her wrap her arms around herself.

_A girl is not ready to become no one. But she is ready to become someone else._

"No. There's no message." Snuff out the sparks.

Arya staggered against the unpredictable winds to the dinghy. She and Robert each took and oar and pulled for dear life until a deck hand secured them to the ship. Her ship.

The crew snapped into action, sails dropped halfway, the anchor chain strained. When the wood creaked and groaned, four men pushed the spokes of the capstan, raising the anchor. Robert manned the wheel, Arya at his side. High above, the canvas of the fore top and jib sails snapped like a vicious pack of wolves.

"It'll be a rough ride, Cap," he yelled, winds flicking his long coat into her legs. "But she's true. The mast is strong."

"As long as we can make it out."

"Aye. Make sure the boy is down below. We need to make sure the ropes are secure."

Arya held onto the rails, knuckles white, as she slid across the pitching deck toward her quarters. Paulo followed her down, down to the hold, where some barrels had already broken loose. They fought the shifting weight, stringing ropes back and forth through the nets to the metal rings in the hull until their hands were raw and bleeding.

She dragged Paulo back to their quarters and set off to help Robert and the crew. The winds howled and slammed her into the side railing. She snaked her hands through the bannister, locking her hands together so that she wasn't thrown into the sea. Through the now slanting rain, Arya watched the lights of Storm's End fade and then blink into darkness.

_"A man does not fly like a bird, but one foot moves and then another…"_

* * *

_Sorry for the abbreviated chapter. Seemed like the Old gods and New wanted to push these two apart once again. ~JS_


	4. Chapter 4

"It's back, Captain." Paulo skittered across the deck, pointing to the main mast. Her sails were unfurled billowing white against the sky that'd mysteriously turned from rolling gray to blue and cloudless on the morn.

Arya turned and shaded her eyes. "What's back?"

"That crow."

A few steps port and she caught a glimpse of Bran's bird, gliding off of the deck. "You could send messages," she yelled to the raven. "It's a lot easier."

Robert chucked behind her. Arya turned on her booted heel. "Well you try having _that_ for a brother."

"He's t-t-turning inland." Robert held fast to the steering and nodded over her shoulder. "I sup-p-p-pose we are to follow him."

"Aye," she grumbled.

Storm's End was only a day behind them. Far enough that she wished for more time with Gendry. Close enough that she wished more sea between them. She'd learned to live with memories for years just fine.

Paulo was at Arya's hand when King's Landing grew from a speck on the horizon to its formidable cliffs and walls. Stones still blackened by dragon fire stacked next to new repairs. The harbor bore no floating debris. The Kraken had claimed his own years ago.

On the ramparts high above the docks, House Raven sigils snapped in the wind. Arya disembarked and recognized the round bearded man and the tall blond knight at his side.

Brienne's strides far outpaced Sam and she reached Arya first. The Lady of Tarth tried to tamp down her smile but couldn't keep the smirk away. "Lady Arya," she greeted, bowing her head.

Arya shook her head. "You know I hate that."

"Just the same, you _are_ the king's sister." The tall knight extended her hand and warmly shook Arya's. "It's so good to have you back in Westeros."

Sam's finally caught up, chest heaving, think chains clinking with the strain. "Lady Arya," he wheezed.

Arya caught sight of the growing entourage now closing in on her and her friends over Sam's shoulder. "Lord Tarly." Little Paulo pressed into the back of her thighs.

Brienne took notice. "And who is this little lord?" She stooped, pushing her sword behind her.

"This is Master Paulo," Arya said, sidestepping to reveal her ward. Her eyes traveled back to the approaching crowd. "Can we avoid this nonsense?"

Sam scoffed. "Nonsense? The king's sister has returned! He received your messages throughout the years and wishes to speak to you about mapping and the lands for trading."

Behind her, the crew secured the ship. She glanced at the prow, the direwolf in need of a new carving and coat of paint. Turning back to the dock, the people kept their advance toward her. She stepped back, remembering. Old Nan's raspy voice glided on the salty wind, pulling Arya's braid.

_That is the time for fear, my little lord; when the white walkers move through the woods._

Under Kings Landing's sunshine, the hairs prickled on the back of Arya's neck. There were no more white walkers, no Night King. She'd felt him shatter. "Send them away," she muttered, backing to her ship, strangling Needle's hilt.

Sam looked at the crowd and back to her. "What? Why?"

Brienne turned. "HALT!" She threw one arm up into the air and the entire mass of bodies stumbled to a stop. "Return to your day. The Night King Slayer will be attending her brother the King." Her voice rang in authority. The people mumbled to one another before leaving the way they came.

"Now, my lady, if we can attend your brother," Brienne said, sweeping her hand toward the skeleton of the Red Keep. "He is most anxious to see you."

Arya breathed through her nose. What was wrong with her? When had a crowd made her cower?

"Captain?" Paulo slid his hand into her free one, the same one that'd pushed him protectively behind her. "You should go with the big lady."

"You will attend me, Paulo." She slowed her heart to a steady pace. "You will meet Bran the Broken and tell him of our adventures."

Paulo's jaw fell slack. "I've ne'er met a king, Captain."

Arya ruffled his hair, thinking of another boy. "He's just my brother. Come on."

Brienne led the way, a blonde braid swinging down her back in contrast to the shined armor plating. She seemed far more … happy? Relaxed. Her step was less rigid, her smile much more easy. As if she could sense she was being watched, Brienne looked back over her shoulder. "Many things have changed since you left, Arya. And I should tell you first, so that you don't hear the rumors."

Both women halted. Paulo bumped into the back of Arya's legs. Sam looked between the ladies, broad smile easing wrinkles next to his eyes.

"What?" Arya watched Brienne for any signs of lying—a stray twitch, flared nostril. Nothing other than joy blossomed on her friend's face.

"I am a mother. A little girl, Jayda."

"Congratulations! Who is your poor husband? What bet did he lose?"

Brienne lifted her chin, unfaltering. "Jamie Lannister was her father."

Arya laughed and slapped Brienne's armor with an open palm, swearing. "I never would've…"

A lop-sided grin tipped Brienne's mouth. "Neither did anyone else."

"I can't wait to meet her. Probably the most beautiful and fiercest child in Westeros."

"Without a doubt." Brienne swept her arm down the dock, toward the narrow staircase up to the Keep.

"Sam," Arya said, once they fell into a cadence, "have you heard from Jon?"

His downturned eyes spoke before the words came. "No. The King has not seen it fit to contact Aegon Targaryen yet." He smiled a tiny smile. "That's Jon's true name."

"I'll have a word with Bran about that," Arya huffed, stomping on each stair tread for emphasis. Behind her, Paulo mimicked her movements.

"I'll tell you this," Brienne called back from the front, "your brother has worked for nothing other than to rebuild the horror that was left behind after the dragon queen. Established new heads of houses, trade routes, tried to rebuild this wasteland."

Brienne's last sentence was punctuated as the group came to the top of the wall surrounding Kings Landing. When Arya left, it was blackened and smoldering rubble. Now, gaping areas stood between houses. Half of the buildings were still charred. The Red Keep was half its size, but slowly regaining height from workers raising enormous blocks with ropes and ladders. A white sept sat like an unblemished rose atop Visenya's Hill. In the other direction, Rhaenys' Hill.

Arya knelt down and pointed. "Over there is where you were born. That is Flea Bottom at below that hill."

Paulo squinted, hand protecting his eyes from the bright sunlight. "I don't remember it, Captain."

"That will change. Since we are here, we will be getting you books to learn your histories."

The boy groaned, head tilting up to the sky. He was even more annoyed once the adults laughed.

_I know a story about a boy who hated stories._

The group descended to the ground level of the Keep, Arya's resolution to teach Paulo doubled with Old Nan's echoes. Most buildings here had been repaired. It didn't surprise her to see Bran in his wheeled chair waiting for her in the courtyard near the former Godswood.

"Arya." She missed her brother's voice. This monotonous Three-Eyed Raven lived in the past, far beyond the boy who couldn't hit a target with an arrow or survive a fall that would've killed grown men. He stared at her with distant dark eyes. Stark eyes.

"Bran."

"You will find the books you need gathered in your room. And your room shall be here tonight."

"Thank you."

A slight grin slipped across Bran's lips and disappeared. "You want to continue your journey to Winterfell, but there is information I must tell you."

"Right. Because what information I have, you already know."

"Just so."

Arya scooped her ward from behind her knees. "This is Paulo, of Flea Bottom. He was stowed on my ship and is under my care. If I ever find who put him there, I shall thank them before running them through."

Paulo dipped at the waist. "Your grace."

Bran examined the boy, eyes lingering on the rusty curls. "Do you think that he was put there for a reason? That his life before was forfeited for the sake of his future?" Bran flicked his gaze to his sister. They stared as she let his words sink down. She'd lost him for the chance to save the kingdom. For without Bran's certainty that the Night King would come for him alone, their plan would've surely failed.

"I would like to make sure my crew is settled." She resorted to something safe. "They will undoubtedly want to visit the brothels."

"Attend supper with me after the sun sets. We will have a visitor."

Arya didn't even feign interest. Let him keep his secrets and sorcery. Brienne excused herself with a curt bow. Sam waved and asked her to come by before the meal to meet his children. "I have four sons now!"

Paulo prattled on down the steps and across the dock. He'd never seen so many people, so many buildings, so many ships, so many steps. "I don't remember anything at all, Captain. Just the smell of everything burned."

Arya's nose twitched at the memory of charred flesh. She would never forget it.

She retrieved the coin from her cabin and put Robert in charge of paying the crew. "Let each man know that if he does not return by noon tomorrow, I will have no shortages of volunteers to replace him. And there will be no other women aboard my ship other than myself."

Robert chuckled and hurried to the men lined up near the gangplank. He yelled Arya's directions, then barked at them to salute her. They turned and each flagged a hand near their forehead before sprinting toward the brothels—their land of milk and honey.

In the quietness of the afternoon, Paulo fell asleep on their cabin floor. Arya crept out and down below. She double-counted the provisions they'd bought at Storm's End, running a finger over the stag embossed wooden barrels. It was better that she left Gendry. He would've asked her to marry him again and she would've said no. She belonged to the sea, to the crisp winds that reminded her of home.

Still. She thought of his body. The way his smile reached his eyes when they laughed or how his jaw muscles flexed when they argued. His smell.

Arya shook her hand and slapped the barrel. Those thoughts would have to be enough. She'd never be a lady, despite her name. She was a captain.

The sun touched the Sunset Sea Arya and Paulo lugged their small satchels up the staircase once again. She felt a little bad that she hadn't made time to visit Sam. Cauldrons were torched one by one along the great wall until the city was surrounded by warm spots of firelight.

A Kingsguard led them to the old throne room. Gone was the massive Iron Throne and its dais of stone. Instead, Bran held court to the side, surrounded by Kingsguard and men alike, each taking turns in the discussion. Arya waited near the entrance, knowing Bran had already timed her arrival.

A low bell rang nearby. The men surrounding Bran all bowed and filed out of the throne room, failing to notice the two newcomers.

"Lady Arya will attend me," Bran said. His Kingsguard all filed out, except for one.

Arya wheeled Bran to the doorway. "Which way?"

"Let us eat and talk. We will have company soon enough."

She minded his directions and they found a small chamber. From the look of the tiny desk, lack of décor, and single large window, this was his personal room. He had one at Winterfell and no one came in without his permission. Arya had pressed her ear against the door once. She fled when Bran called her name.

"We should speak in private," Bran said.

Paulo's nostrils widened.

Arya turned the boy to face her, hands on both of his shoulders. "You need to obey your king, Paulo. I will be to our room soon. Eat dinner. Practice writing the house mottos because you may be meeting some lords and ladies soon." She lifted his chin before gently pushing it aside. "Go."

"Yes, Captain," he whispered, feet dragging across the stones behind a maid that had appeared in the hallway.

"They are alike, he and Rickon." Bran beckoned to a stool tucked under the desk. "Both in appearance and wildness."

"I wish I could've seen him grown," Arya said.

Bran turned his gaze to the window. "We all had wishes."

A second maid appeared with a pot of stew, bread, and a stack of three bowls and spoons.

"I see our guest is late." Arya tore the end off of the loaf.

"He will be on time. Time is what it is."

"I don't miss it when you talk like that."

Bran reached forward and helped himself to a hunk of bread. "You miss your brother."

Her hand stopped halfway to her mouth. "No. I miss all of my brothers. Including the one who is still alive. Jon is alive, isn't he?"

"Yes."

"Why haven't you reached out to him?"

"He does not wish it."

Arya dropped her bread to the desk. "Talking with you, or any man, is useless. Just tell me where to find him and I'll go myself."

"He is not your brother."

She stood up so fast that the stool bounced onto the floor and into the wall. The Kingsguard simply tightened his grip on the pommel of his sword near the door.

"Jon is my brother as much as you are my brother, even if you don't want to call yourself that." Arya kept her teeth ground together. "If you don't tell me, I'll die trying to find him after I go to Sansa."

"You will live to see him again."

Righting the stool, Arya plopped down. She certainly wasn't going to thank Bran for that tidbit of information. And she thought about leaving until he looked to the door, past the guard.

"Our guest has arrived."

Heavy boots thudded down the corridor.

"Are you kidding me?" she asked the ceiling just as the lord of Storm's End rounded the corner.

_A woman was his downfall._

* * *

Sorry for the delay! Life happens. :) ~JS


	5. Chapter 5

"Shouldn't you be at your castle, Lord Baratheon?"

Arya remained seated as Gendry stepped into the room, his broad shoulders nearly filling the space between the desk and window. She bit off a piece of bread and chewed with the enthusiasm of a bored crew member at sea.

"I have business with the King." Gendry eyed the stew, then Arya, and landed on the bread.

"You've had a long journey, Lord Baratheon. Sit." Bran didn't indicate where, and Arya was not about to give up her stool. Gendry leaned against the wall behind him. "You rode through the night and day to make it here."

Even by candlelight, Arya watched the pink creep up Gendry's neck. He shifted his weight, rocking his sword sheath forward. He cleared his throat. "I also need to speak to your sister."

"I know."

Arya rolled her eyes and poured herself a glass of wine. Between Gendry's recklessness to leave his people and Bran's all-knowing answers she needed to drink. She knocked back the first cup with ease. The refill quickly followed. When she set the cup onto the desk, she scoffed at the two sets of eyes watching her.

"What? You both needed a moment and I needed to drink."

"I'm starving," Gendry mumbled.

"I'm not your serving wench. Get your own food."

The Kingsguard at the door altered his stance, watching the King, the Lord, and the Princess.

The stalemate was broken when Bran reached forward and dished up his own bowl in silence. Arya was next. Gendry scooped the leftovers into the remaining bowl.

"Jon is beyond The Wall," Bran said, setting his spoon aside. "He has gone north because he is not only a criminal here and it was agreed upon, but to find a part of his soul that has abandoned him. He has no parents, no family, no ties."

"He has us!" Arya's chest ached. "He has me!"

Bran's strange voidless stare didn't give her any sort of comfort.

"Her dragon, Drogon, took her body from him. Though he killed her for us all, he loved her and mourns her still."

Arya looked to her lap, blinking back her tears. Of course, she'd thought of that over the years. But it was something altogether different hearing someone else, her own brother, say it aloud. It was like watching her father's end so many years ago, being ripped away from the square by Yoren. Even if it did save her life.

"Jon yearns for love again," Bran continued. "And you will be the one to show him."

She sniffed, swiping at the tears with the back of her hand. "Good," she whispered.

"Wait," Gendry said. "Show him love like Daenerys?"

"Stupid." Arya chucked her spoon and it bounced off his chest. "Shut up."

Bran turned his attention. "She will be his salvation. Arya will deliver him a gift so rare that he will return."

Arya straightened. "Return home to Winterfell?" Her heart soared.

"Return. That is my vision. And yet, you will fail."

She swore. "No more riddles, you Three-Eyed Raven bastard. Tell me what I need to do."

"It will be revealed in time."

Arya stormed out, heedless of Gendry calling out her name. She headed toward the wing that formerly housed bedchambers and barked for directions from a passing maid.

Paulo was sprawled across a combed sheepskin rug, mouth slack, drool puddling. He'd undressed down to his smallclothes. Arya didn't blame him. Even with the shutters open, the air was stifling.

Outside, the stars blinked in the night sky. Each set matched a drawing in her chart books. She could leave tomorrow, forget this nonsense of Gendry showing up, failing to save Jon. There was no way she could fail—she'd killed the Night King.

The wine worked its way to her skull and pleasantly buzzed around like a lazy bee in a flower field. Arya shed her clothes, sticky with sweat. She used the sponge and water near the door to clean off before laying down across the huge bed. Plans formed to leave as soon as possible, tomorrow if they were able. Bran would have to tell her about the future. She needed to have some type of plan to save Jon and time needed to reveal itself tomorrow.

Or she would figure it out on the seas herself.

* * *

Sam's maester chains swung and clinked together as he splayed his hands on the curled edges of the scroll. He muttered something about finding "it" trying to drag a plump finger down a column of words while keeping the scroll unfurled with his elbow. Arya sighed and reached over to pin the unruly parchment down.

"Thank you," Sam said, grinning.

Behind her, Arya heard Gendry shift his weight from one booted foot to the next. "You don't have to be here, you know."

"I don't have anywhere else to be." He moved forward and stood near her elbow. "Besides, Sam said this was important."

"Oh, it is! Yes, here!" Sam pointed to a glob of words. "During the third month of 135 AC, Lady Rhaena Corbray—" He paused and nodded. "She was Targaryen before she married." He looked back to the place above his finger. "On the third month, Lady Rhaena rode the dragon Morning for the first time, circling above the Dragonpit."

Sam looked up, grinning and completely excited at the news. Arya pulled her brows together. "And?"

"So, the dragon was a female. King Aegon III refused to see the dragon, so Lady Rhaena rode her to Dragonstone."

Arya let go of the corner of the parchment. "Your point?"

The paper rolled together when Sam straightened. "As a female, she could have made a lair at Dragonstone. Her eggs could still be there."

"Oh gods." Arya scrubbed her face with both hands.

"There's another one," Sam said, shoving another scroll open. "Here! Silverwing! Once the dragon of Queen Alyanne, she became riderless until Ulf the White was able to claim her. He was poisoned. Silverwing eventually became wild during the reign of King Aegon III. She last made her lair on an island in Red Lake, in the Reach."

Arya sighed, both lips bowing out. "Sam. Why are we talking about dragons and lairs? The last time I saw a dragon, it nearly burned this city to the ground and killed most of the people here. What does this have to do with Jon?"

Sam hesitated, carefully rolling the parchment before looking up. "I want him back as much as you do. He's my brother, too." His eyes were lined with tears. "I just thought that maybe, if he could have a chance with another dragon, to get part of who he is back, maybe he will come home."

She took measured breaths through her nostrils. "It could work," she whispered. "Maybe that is the gift so rare that Bran saw. I don't know of anything else."

"Thank you," Sam said, dipping his head.

"So, if I find an egg, how will Jon get it to hatch?"

Sam chuckled. "I do not know. Drogon and Rhaegal were hatched when the queen tried to burn herself on her husband's funeral pyre. But … Summerhall was destroyed because King Aegon V tried to use wild fire to hatch seven eggs. Come to think of it, it isn't recorded if anyone recovered _those_ eggs!"

Gendry finally moved, stretching to his full height. "If she brings an egg to her brother, he's half Stark. He wouldn't be able to survive being burnt alive."

"I know," Sam muttered. "I just thought, maybe, he'd have to come back to figure it all out."

"It's a solid start, Sam," Arya said. "Have you talked with Bran about it?"

Sam smiled. He always smiled. "He said 'It should be' when I mentioned it."

Gendry snorted. "Well, what in the seven hells does that mean?"

"I know that the king sees things beyond what he can explain," Sam offered.

"Alright." Arya pushed off the table. "I need to find Paulo. Will you write this down for me?"

Sam shook his head, chains rattling against his robes. He bowed at the waist to the pair and shuffled out of the room.

"My crew isn't equipped for land excursions," Arya said, facing the empty doorway. "But there's nothing that will stop them."

"You're going to do this? Find an egg and bring home your brother?"

Arya dipped her head until it touched her leather jerkin. "I miss him. I need him."

Gendry's large breath shifted his stance. "What if he doesn't want to be found?"

"I'll find him. Bran said so."

"I believe you, m'lady."

She turned and headed toward her room to fetch Paulo. Her stomach churned with hunger pangs. That, or with the possibility of finding Jon soon.

Gendry's heavy steps were right behind her. "I want to go with you."

Arya kept her pace, shaking her head side to side. "You have a castle to lord over. No more traipsing around the lands on adventures." Her words echos along the empty stone passage.

"At least we wouldn't have anyone trying to kill us this time."

She stopped and spun so quickly that he nearly ran into her. "There is no 'we,'" she said, motioning between them. "I have my crew."

"And they'll keep you safe?"

"They have in years past."

"I love you," he said, placing his massive hands on either side of her face.

Her stomach curled into itself. "Don't say that."

Gendry's eyes flicked back and forth, trying to catch her gaze. "I have loved you since Harrenhall. Before that."

She allowed the muscles in her face to relax. Perhaps staring back at him would make him stop blabbering.

"I loved you when you asked me to be your family. Me. A baseborn bastard. Family to a lady? I had to tell you no because it would never be. I was stupid and I'm sorry."

Arya felt the blackness creep into her veins. So much would be different if he'd said yes back then. Maybe they could've stopped the Red Wedding. Maybe Robb would be on the throne.

"When Ser Davos found me again and took me to your brother, you are all that I thought about, getting back to you. Even before you came back. I knew you'd find your brother and sister, so I stayed with him."

His thumb drifted across her jawline.

"You said that it wasn't you when I asked you to marry me. But it is. I _see_ it."

Arya scoffed and shook her head. "You know nothing."

"I know that you're beautiful and I love you and these last few years have meant nothing without you." He leaned down and tenderly kissed her. Arya's eyes slipped closed and she sighed. Gendry pulled back. He kissed her nose, between her eyes, and then gathered her to his chest, leaning his chin atop her hair. "You and I, we cannot part."

"There is Storm's End," she said, keeping her eyes shut. Maybe if she didn't look, it would all work out. She could stop looking for whatever pulled her heart this way and that. No. She still needed to see Sansa and find Jon. Arya opened her eyes and stared at the stone wall beyond Gendry's arms.

His hands trailed from her face to the collar of her shirt. He toyed with the laces between his thumb and finger. "I know."

"And you cannot abandon your people. They would hate you for it." She looked up. "I would hate you for it."

"I've read about your father. You are just like him."

Arya held her breath. More than anyone in the world, she wished to see her father again. "What did you hear?" she whispered.

"I _read_ about him," Gendry said, his smile tipping sideways. "They were the stories Ser Davos had to suffer through."

She slipped from his grasp and stepped backward. "You cannot leave your people. You, of all people, saw what happened when lords and kings were slaughtered. You have a duty." The words burned. Her duty was to no one.

Gendry leaned onto the wall behind him. "If something were to happen to me, who would watch over the Stormlands?"

"I don't have any idea. Ask my brother."

He grunted, pushed off of the stones, and ambled away, boots scuffing the floor.

* * *

_Sorry for the delay! What can I say other than "Life." ~ JS_


	6. Chapter 6

The King Beyond the Wall. The Queen of the North. The King of the Six Kingdoms. Such titled company, her brothers and sister. And with the Lord of Storm's End at her heel, Arya had no end of pomp and circumstance at Kings Landing. Maids hustled and lowered their heads. Women in fine gowns smiled politely before they curtsied. Men bowed deeply.

Arya stalked to her room, using a few shortcuts in the Red Keep to lose her shadow. Paulo leaped up from the rug when she flung open the door, a book tumbling to the floor.

"Captain." He bobbed his head. The tips of his tanned ears blushed the color of port wine.

"What have you got there?"

Paulo retrieved the book. The blue leather cover was embossed with a dragon. "The king had it sent for you." He meekly extended it to her.

Arya crossed her arms and smiled. "Well? Is there anything interesting inside?"

"Oh yes! It talks about dragons and dragonriders! Some people didn't even get to try because the dragons would roast 'em alive!" He thumbed through the pages to a picture. "This was _. His rider was _." His unusually clean finger skimmed along with the words and circled the picture on the opposite page. "What I wouldn't give to see a dragon," he breathed, petting the log neck of the illustration.

"Be glad that you do not remember, Paulo." He'd never know the stench of burning flesh. Or recall the screams of those scorched alive. The misery of those trying to see if the lump of coal was their father or child. Arya plucked the book and turned it over in her hands. "We will have to figure out how to bring my brother from the North with this."

"Jon Snow?"

She glanced up to the boy whose brown eyes echoed her exiled kin. "Yes, Jon."

Paulo froze, eyebrows dropping and nostrils flared. "Captain. You have two kings for brothers!"

Arya chuckled and tossed the book to her bed. "I do. And a queen for a sister." She captured the boy around his waist and gathered him close. "And you, little urchin, get to meet them all."

"Do I have'ta wear shoes?" He cast a forlorn glace as the new footwear near the door.

"You will want fur-lined boots when we visit my sister. The snows there can bury little boys."

"I am not little." Paulo scowled, wriggling from her grasp to stand tall, all elbows and chapped kneecaps. "I am a deckhand."

"Right you are, good man." Arya arched her shoulders forward as the sun warmed her back. "Apologies."

"Accepted. Permission to read the book?"

Arya pushed the volume to him, smiling as he scrambled onto her pillow. Oh to have too few cares other than to read of dragons. An idea struck her.

"Ser Paulo, I have an assignment for you."

He straightened up and gave her a curt nod, curls fluttering near his cheeks.

"I need you to read that book and make note of any dragon eggs that were abandoned or never hatched. Like Silverwing's lair on the Red Lake."

His little lips formed a circle. "Are we going to hunt dragon eggs now, Captain?" he whispered. His fingers drummed against the papers.

"Perhaps. But let's keep this assignment between you and I. Agreed?"

"Aye, Captain."

"Get to it, then." She pushed off of the bed and crossed to the desk where a quill and paper waited. Arya scratched down a list of supplies. She mentally plotted out their course along the shoreline to the North, their first stop at Dragonstone.

It was a short jaunt back through Blackwater Bay. They'd already passed the imposing island on the way to Kings Landing. Most of the crew members kept their eyes cast away from the black castle, spitting curses toward it. Paulo gaped at the magnificent structure. She would need to ask Bran who ruled over Dragonstone and Driftmark. It would take more than a few days to comb the islands for the legendary eggs that might restore Jon to their family.

Her quill tilted to the side. Jon would never be the same, just as she. But he had put an end to the madness. He'd killed for love. And Arya loved him more for it. Many times over the years, she'd wished he'd been with her on the open sea, to talk about the future and forget the past. She could tell Jon about Braavos and he would forgive her.

A brief set of knocks interrupted her planning. "Lady Arya?" a female voice called through the door.

With a huff and shake of her head, Arya rose, folding the paper and stuffing it into her pocket. The chair groaned as it pushed across the stone floor. She yanked the door open. "Yes?" This title nonsense would never stop.

A plain maid in a drab gray dressed curtsied. "His Majesty the King requests your presence in regards to your travels. If you would follow me," she said, dipping her dark head low so that her eyes didn't show, "he said the house names will be available."

"Of course he already has them."

"M'lady?"

Arya turned to Paulo, who held his place with one finger. "You mind your orders, young ser."

"Aye, Captain. I will not fail."

She quickly followed the maid so that he couldn't see her smile. Whereas Rickon was wild, Paulo was headstrong. Though she now only could recall bits and pieces of her youngest sibling. Like the way he was scared of Shaggydog when Father handed him the pup.

So lost in melancholy of the forgotten fragments of her past, Arya nearly bumped into the maid when they stopped in the hallway. Quick as a snake, indeed. Land was creeping into her veins, the feeling of hope dulling her ability to stay sharp.

Or was it that she'd started to like feeling "normal?"

Arya shook her chin and looked over the maid's shoulder. They waited in the hallway while Bran listened to a small group of bearded men clad in black. Could they be from Castle Black? With news of Jon? She pushed past the patient woman and into the room.

Would they have been armed, Arya had no doubt that four sword tips would have greeted her. But the men uselessly grabbed their empty scabbards when the guards snapped to attention. The one closest to her shifted to his back foot, sword hand flexing into a fist. He was no more than twenty and one, an easy target for Catspaw the way his jaw muscles flexed.

"No need to strike my sister," Bran soothed.

The men clambered to drop to one knee, mumbling, "My lady."

Bran nodded to the man with a balled fist. "Arya, Gawen Glover, commander of the Night's Watch." How perfectly _noble_ of her brother to assign the only son to the Lord of Deepwood Motte to take the vows of the black. Served Robett right for remaining in their castle during the Battle of Winterfell.

Gawen stood first, followed by his company. "My lady Arya, my most sincere apologies." No doubt the quiver in his voice matched the sweat on his brow when he realized the Night King Slayer stood before him.

For her part, Arya drew long even breaths in through her nose to tamp her ire at the Glover heir. The Frey's were the only house that deserved the fate of their father. Young Gawen here had much to improve before she would remove her palm from the hilt of her dagger.

"Lord Commander," she said spreading her feet slightly apart. "Have you come to gather new recruits?"

"We have. There are only a dozen boys, but they will do."

Arya squinted at him. "Boys." She blew out a lung full of air through pursed lips. "As if girls were any less of a warrior."

"No, my lady, I didn't mean—"

"Lyanna Mormont. Alys Karstark." She would never mention the former queen of Kings Landing, nor the Mad Mother of Dragons. They'd lost the right when they disposed of their honor. "Brienne of Tarth."

While she was speaking, the men behind Gawen took small steps backward. Perhaps they didn't want to be marked with blood should a fray ensue.

From the corner of the room, Arya saw movement. The Lord Commander of the Kingsguard ruled her face, but pride shone in her blue eyes. "Did my lady call?"

"Ser Brienne, yes. I was only reminding my new _friend_ here of the tendency to overlook a woman in battle."

Gawen's face flushed from pink to hot red as Brienne advanced. "I believe Lord Glover means that it would prove difficult to house both men and women at the Wall," she said with a quick nod to the embarrassed man.

"My sister disagrees," Bran interrupted, his face stoic. "It will change, Arya. But it is not that time yet."

One corner of Arya's mouth crept up when she caught Brienne's eyebrow twitch. She turned to face her brother and King. "Your Majesty," she said, bowing her head and shoulders. Maybe not today, but one day an honorable woman would bear the Black Castle mantle.

"Your journey will be unhindered," Bran said, addressing the Brothers. "Return as once, as we discussed, and follow through with the plans."

The men bent at the waist and skirted around Arya on their way to the door. She cast a last glance at them over her shoulder before returning her attention to Bran. "You sent for me?"

"Your own journey must begin in haste. Lord Payne will receive you at Driftwood and permit you access, as well as Dragonstone."

Her insides bristled. _Illyn Payne_. The last name on her list that hadn't been crossed off. His body had never been found. "Lord Payne?"

"Pod." Brienne smiled widely, her face relaxing. Arya relaxed her shoulders. Brienne continued, "The King sent him off with a new bride, to change the dignity of his family name."

Arya hummed her consent to the decision.

Bran straightened in his chair, as though a string pulled his spine taut. "You will accompany my sister, Ser Brienne. Do not argue your place. It is required. You have your duty with her for a while. And you will remain with Lord Payne until summoned home."

The tall woman's face wrinkled in concern. "Back to King's Landing?"

"You have your orders," came the monotonous reply. Brienne bowed, hesitating before rising, and retreated from the room. "Arya Stark."

Arya jerked her head back. It sounded like their mother's tone of voice before they were chastised. "Bran Stark."

"He is no more." Bran's blank eyes stared beyond Arya, into the nothingness of the room. "The defender of the North. Princess of Winterfell. Night King Slayer. For you have titles of your own, though you choose Captain."

Dirty trick, creeping into her mind like that. She clasped her hands behind her back instead of responding.

"You will return Jon Snow by ice and by fire. He will come for none other than you and the news you will deliver."

"Pray tell, what news shall I bring to my brother?" she asked in an equally droning expression.

"You will know the information that needs to be told when it is revealed."

"Thank you for such a complete explanation, your majesty."

"Lord Baratheon will accompany you—" He held up a hand to cut off her protest and plowed on. "Do not express your wroth to your brother for this decision, for he is not here."

Arya pulled her warring thoughts together and stared at the king's forehead. Focus, she needed to focus. She silently repeated Master Forel's mantra. _Swift as a deer. Quiet as shadow. Fear cuts deeper than swords. Quick as a snake. Calm as still water. Fear cuts deeper than swords. Strong as a bear. Fierce as a wolverine._

"Fear cuts deeper than swords," Bran whispered in an almost-Bran voice.

And when she looked into his eyes, she swore her brother was there for an instant before he blinked and disappeared behind the Three-Eyed Raven once more.

She cleared her voice and moved her heels together. "I will make preparations to depart on the morning tide. I'll bring back our brother." For Jon was the only brother she now had.

* * *

I didn't forget!

If you are just joining me, please hop over to Winterlyn Dow's stories. She's fantastical. ~JS


	7. Chapter 7

The maid still waited in the hallway. Arya thrust the supplies list from her pocket to the demure woman and ordered her to deliver it to her ship at once. "No delay."

And she'd nearly made it back to her room to tell Paulo to pack up when her path was blocked by a bull. "Last time I was at Dragonstone, I met your brother." His lips twisted into a smirk. "I didn't say a word about you. I figured he'd drown me or order the queen to roast me alive."

Arya raised her eyebrows. "What? If he knew you were using him to find me?"

"Something like that." The lines around his eyes softened. She hated the way it made the spot behind her belly button writhe in twisted warmth. _If the lamb sees the knife, she panics. Her panic seeps into her meat, darkens it, fouls the flavor._ The Red Woman's ghost whispered into her ear. Arya pushed past Gendry and continued onto her room.

"I'll see you in the mor—"

She slammed the door to cut off his words, pressing her fist to her chest. As if that would chase the ruby-throated witch away. Paulo clutched the book, wide-eyed. Arya chuckled and advanced to him. "Back to sea we go, Ser."

His eyebrowed rocked together. "Are you sure we can't stay?"

"Do … do you want to stay here, Paulo?" Her heart ricocheted behind her ribcage wondering just how she would sleep without tucking his hair back before she climbed into bed. Or looking up the mast to spy him scampering up the ropes.

"No!" He hopped up, the book falling to the bed. "I never want to leave you. I was just wondering if we could stay a bit longer." He cast a glance out of the window, across the partially charred rooftops of Kings Landings.

Arya took his slender, calloused hand. "My brother, the king, has ordered me on a mission. I will return, though. If you'd like to stay on here, you may. And I'll come back for you."

A crooked smile zipped across his face before he latched onto her neck with both hands. "And when you come back, I will have read all of the books and learned how ride a horse." The beasts fascinated him since the moment he'd laid eyes on them along the streets.

Somewhere inside of Arya, a fracture started. She gritted her teeth and held him tightly. It would do no good for him to see the tears she blinked back. Bran would see to it that Paulo was taken care of. He could play with other children for once. Maybe care for a dog.

She relaxed her hold and held him out at arm's length. "_Valonqar_. I believe you are a wise young man and will have much to teach me when I come to fetch you back to the ship." She lied as if her life depended on it. He had to think this is what she wanted for him. "The king has many advisors and the Captain of the Kings Guard is the best swordsperson I know. She will be coming with me but will assign you someone to teach you more than I ever could." Those last word barely squeaked past the knot in her windpipe.

Arya cleared her throat and stood. She packed the few belongings she had to keep her hands busy.

_We all must choose. Man or woman, young or old, lord or peasant, our choices are the same. We choose light or we choose darkness_.

Darkness was her old, constant friend.

Yanking the strap on her satchel tight, Arya returned to the bed where Paulo had the pages open and was marking passages with crow's feathers. "And pray tell, where did you find such bookmarkers?" Arya took a spare and twirled it between two fingers.

Paulo plucked it from her grasp. "I went to the rookery while you were at supper last night."

"You will have to learn to send messages to me with your discoveries. I command it." She ruffled his hair. It would only prolong her agony to stay. "I am going to the dock to prepare the men. I'll be back after supper."

The boy nodded, mumbling the text, oblivious to the tear that escaped his captain's eye. Arya couldn't return and lose someone else. It was better this way.

The cool dark passages of the Red Keep twisted and turned as she fled. A familiar darkness spilled across her soul, sorrow tamping every good reason she came up with for Paulo to stay. When she breached the wall, her mood matched the blazing sun. Gendry didn't stand a chance as she approached him at the end of the dock with a smile.

"What are you smiling for?" she barked, not even pausing as she stormed by.

He took long strides to match her pace. "It's ironic that we have to obey the king and now you're stuck with me."

"I'm going to find my brother. You're not part of the equation for me."

Gendry continued to blabber on, but Arya was finished listening. She focused on the task at hand, her boat and crew. Once Robert's lanky frame straightened next to a barrel being loaded onto the ship, she melted into her captain's role. Her first mate moved in tandem with her mood, waving men away and pointing where to stow supplies.

"Ser Paulo is taking his leave," she said, once her voice would not betray her. "Ser Brienne will be joining us for the short journey to Dragonstone. Take her things to my quarters once they arrive. I believe she will have her daughter with her."

"Yes, Captain." The wise first mate asked nothing more, instead, returning to his duties while Arya ducked into her room to scribe her log. The table was laden with new scrolls and books, no doubt from Sam. She would get to them as soon as they rowed into the bay with the sunrise.

Two knocks sounded on the door. "Captain?" Robert called out.

She scrubbed both eyes with the backs of her hands. Maybe the sea would sort things out. The long days would give her clues to Jon and how to bring him home. Although she'd be cooped up with Lord Baratheon. She wrenched the door open. "Report."

"The last of the supplies will be loaded by nightfall. I've sent a messenger to Ser Brienne to send her belongings ahead. All of the crew is accounted for, save one. He promised to be back in two hours, though." A sly grin revealed his uneven teeth under both hiked eyebrows.

"I'm sure she is quite special," Arya said, glancing over his shoulder to the deck.

"More than likely, Captain."

Two hands worked the forward sail, gathering it into new ropes to be strung high. Two days ashore and the boat was clean and ready to set out once more. She heard Gendry before he appeared from the hatch. His face was pasty and he staggered portside before losing his stomach contents to the ocean water. It would be a long journey.

Robert followed her gaze. "I'll send someone for ginger."

A long journey, indeed.

After Robert left, Arya returned to the scrolls. Maybe she could may some headway before nightfall. Or learn enough to feign the need to read more to escape Gendry's … whatever he was talking about. Love. Storm's End. Adventures. And if she cared for him and let him close, he would leave or be taken like everyone else.

_Men never crave what they already have._

Arya gripped the table, knuckles white. The only thing Melisandre ever did right was to bring Jon back to life.

"Strange that I'm doing the same," Arya whispered to no one at all.

She plucked the closest scroll and sat on her bed. Outside, the men yelled orders at one another while she poured over a map of Dragonstone. She'd always heard of the throne carved into the rocks and read about the Chamber of the Painted Table, each of the four windows facing the points of the compass.

Jon had been there. With Daenerys.

Arya paused, the far edge of the map curling onto itself. Outside of her small open window, Kings Landing continued on with life. Workers hustled on the docks. Fishermen toted their catch toward the markets, dogs sulking behind in hopes of a free meal. Beyond them, the constant city noises were muted. But there was life.

All because of Jon.

He'd be upset if he heard her thoughts. Insomuch as she nearly flinched whenever someone thanked her for killing the Night King.

As if she had a choice.

As if Jon had a choice.

When she reached him, they could talk about everything. Braavos. Lyanna. Love. The future. Sacrifice.

A gull screeched nearby. Advancing toward her ship, a tall blonde warrior with a miniature by her side. Arya smiled and went to greet them.

Brienne waved once she caught sight of Arya at the gangplank. She ducked her head and whispered something to her daughter who squared her little chin. Oh, a fierce one for sure.

"We've come to bring our bags tonight." Brienne held her hand out to the little girl. "Jayna has never been on a proper ship, only boats."

Arya swept her hand aside. "Welcome aboard, then. I've arranged for you to stay in my quarters for the short trip to Dragonstone. It's small, but will suffice if you need to rest." She aimed her last comment to the girl who stepped past the railing.

"I will _not_ need to rest, Captain," she said, the lilt of her accent catching Arya by surprise.

"Manners," Brienne warned, releasing her hand. "Jayna Tarth, may I present you to Captain Stark." Upon Jayna's lack of movement, Brienne cleared her throat and continued in a tone of voice Arya remembered from her own mother. "Defender of the North. Princess Arya Stark of Winterfell. The Night King Slayer."

Jayna's cat-green eyes widened with each new title. She bowed slowly at the waist. "M'lady." Her thin braid spilled over one shoulder where it stayed as she straightened. "It is an honor to meet you. Mama has told me how you sparred at Winterfell with your small sword. There is no one like you."

Behind her, Brienne dipped her chin to hide her smirk.

With a flourish, Arya returned Jayna's bow. "The honor is mine, young lady. For I've had the privilege of knowing and sparring with your mother, but also your noble father." Far across the seas, after weeks and weeks, Arya's conscience gave Jaime Lannister the respect he earned at Winterfell. He would never know, but the knight nearby caught her breath and it was as it should be. A small purchase of honor between the women.

Robert Stone appeared at her elbow and took the bags from Brienne, who glanced at the opposite side of the ship. "This will be a long voyage for Lord Baratheon."

The man was bent at the waist, forehead resting on the railing. He straightened when he heard his name, face ashen. "Ser Brienne, Lady Jayna." His chin barely lowered. "You'll have to excuse my lack of greeting. I'm paying my respects to the Kraken gods."

Brienne laughed along with Arya as Gendry moaned and turned back to the bay. Overhead, the crew secured both mainsails. They were ready to move with the tide.

Arya turned to her tall friend once more. "I'd suggest a good night's sleep on your own bed. It may be sunny and fair today but the winds will bring rough waters tomorrow."

"Great," Gendry groaned.

"Will you join us for supper," Brienne called over her shoulder, steering her daughter back toward the dock.

"No," Arya said. "I need to make sure we have supplies accounted for in case we are taken off course or need to plot a different route."

"Then we will see you before dawn." Brienne slowed her steps down the dock. Arya listened to Jayna's questions bounce away on the wind and knew her mother answered in kind.

A crew member interrupted her line of sight holding several ginger roots. "Thank you." She crossed the deck to the Lord of Storms End. He was sitting on the planks, head leaning on the banister, eyes closed and jaw slack. Arya crouched. His nails were dirty and torn. Probably from sneaking to the smithy whenever he could. There was stubble on his face and she resisted reaching up to feel the prickliness under her thumb. "You should sleep," she said looking at his lips before those startling blue eyes opened.

"You haven't even asked me why the King allowed me to come." Gendry nearly panted the words. He groaned again, covering his stomach with one hand.

"I promise you that after you sleep, you will start to feel better. I'll have some ginger tea made for you."

"I'm not sleeping in a hammock." His face paled even more. "I can't even get down the stairs."

Arya chuckled. "Ser Davos would be so disappointed to see you now."

"I'm disappointed in myself."

"Right." Arya stood and Robert Stone was waiting. "Help Lord Seasick here into my quarters. Leave him on the floor with a bucket. Have Axell brew him some ginger tea. I'll speak with the quartermaster to confirm our supplies are all accounted for."

She left him in the capable hands of the only man she trusted with her ship, only glancing back once to watch the pair shuffle to her room. The once chatty lord leaned heavily onto the weathered man. She continued on her task, paying the suppliers and ordering those who refused to take payment from the king's sister to take her money or she would report them. Their families need not starve on her account. Nor worship her like some type of saint who would assassinate anyone they hexed.

Robert waited for her near the wheel with the map of Dragonstone. They plotted and replotted where to land first, second, or third if the weather would not cooperate. She explained the wishes of her brother, to search for any dragon eggs left behind. Robert took her account in stride, only asking if there were highborn tales of dragon nests.

"Dragons were only a story to us on River Row until she came."

"The only one I remember is something about the Mad King finding some. It was something the maids sang to Rickon when he was small.

_The Mad King found some eggs_

_ He stuck them in the fire_

_ The flames went higher and higher_

_ And then he burned his legs."_

Arya sighed. "That sounds stupid now." She stared past the map into her past. "They'd spin him in circles, lifting him in the air, and then tickle his legs." Rickon's laughter flitted through her memories. Then Paulo's. But she wasn't expecting Melisandre's murmur on the wind.

_Prophesies are dangerous things. I believe you have a role to play._

She cleared her throat. "That's it. That's all I know. But there is a book that I will try to—"

Small feet clamored up to the helm. Paulo's wild curls burned red in the setting sun. He clutched the blue dragon book to his chest, shirt askew.

"Captain," he whispered. "There is a man on the floor of our cabin."


	8. Chapter 8

Long after the crew bedded down for the night, merry with the extra cups their captain insisted they drink, and the first watch was posted, Arya crept into her quarters. Paulo had taken his promotion earnestly and bid her goodnight from his new hammock. And thus, she was alone, save for Brienne's luggage and the slumbering bull on her floor.

The door hinges were silent on their posts. Only the strip of leather at the bottom of the doorway to keep the rain out hissed along the wooden planks. Though, she knew that an entire army could board the ship and he'd sleep though it, given that Robert Stone admitted to slipping him some milk of poppy to keep the man down.

Good of her first mate to make such a wise decision. Gendry would feel better on the morrow.

The lantern flickered as gusts whisked through the open window. The sun had set more than an hour before she left her crew. Wine buzzed through her blood, warming her more than it ought. She toed off her boots into their corner and shed her vest. With a wicked grin and alcohol-tainted thoughts, Arya shucked her pants to the floor. Her long shirt billowed in the breeze. She closed her eyes and swayed, imagining a far-away beach, where the white sand spilled between her toes. Something brushed her left thigh. She tipped her chin down and frowned when she saw it was the hem of her shirt.

With a huff, Arya dropped to the bed. She snuffed the light and laid across the covers on her side. The wind chased goosebumps up her sweaty legs. And as her eyes adjusted to the shadows, they remained on the man only an arm's length away.

It was easy to card her lazy fingers through his Gendry's dark curls. If he grew it out much more, he'd need to borrow Paulo's leather ties. She smirked. The Lord of Storm's End wearing leather ties in his hair. But she really wanted to know why it was so soft.

Groaning, she rolled onto her back, her arms limp across her stomach. The excess wine refused to chase away the thoughts of the man beside her, and had only made the desire she sought to snuff out course through her body like a fever. She stood up. Paced to the table. Returned to her bed. Sat down. Stood up once more. With muddled resolution, Arya dragged her bedding to the floor.

By then, she could see the lines at the corners of his eyes when she scooched closer. When she pulled her fingers through his hair again, the memory of it caught her off guard.

Robb and Jon were fishing outside of the Hunter's Gate. It was a hot day and Mother had sent her to her room for practicing her stitches on Septa Mordane's robes when she nodded off. Arya escaped in search of the freedom her brothers had. Jon motioned for her to approach quietly. She sat near Robb's head and played with his soft hair.

"You could be my family," Arya whispered to the man before her now, their lips nearly touching. Because in the dark, it was easy to be herself. Arya Underfoot, the baby the grumpkins replaced. The wine lulled her into a dream of laying in bed with her husband all day. Perhaps a dark-haired girl she would name Cat who would wield Needle.

"I _am_ a lady. It _was_ me." Her quiet admission came with a limp smile. "Well, a lady in name only and certainly not the lady Storm's End needs. There are things you'll never know about me. Things you'd hate."

Gendry dragged in a long snuffle and held it. Arya did the same, only releasing when his hot breath warmed her forehead. She pressed her lips to his once he settled.

"I could do this every night. Where no one sees me." His lips were slightly chapped when she kissed him again. "But I won't. Because that isn't me." As she stood, her resolve fastened again, pushing past the delusions and longings. She crawled onto her bed and faced the wall. Outside of her window, life still carried on. And so, it seemed, would she.

Arya nodded to Robert in the sliver of dawn, downing the awful concoction of milk and wine to chase her headache away. She gagged and handed the cup back to him. Stretching her legs, she walked the topside from stem to stern. Ropes were coiled, barrels fastened. She stomped on the central hatch to wake her men. Paulo was the first to crawl up, blinking heavy lids.

"Mornin' Captain." He held his book close.

"Did you sleep well?"

"No." His mouth stretched into a yawn. "I will try the floor tonight."

Arya kept her smile at bay. "Perhaps the freight, then. Wouldn't want you to drown first if we sprung a leak." She tousled his hair.

The lad nodded, fighting a second yawn. "Is Lord Baratheon awake?" He angled to see her door.

"He should be roused. See to it." She didn't trust herself in the daylight behind closed doors. And if he stumbled out with his clothing rumpled and askew, the crew would think something. Certainly, they'd never admit it aloud.

Paulo scampered off as Brienne called out a greeting from the dock. "I don't know that we slept much," she admitted. "But we brought our breakfast and are ready for departure." Here was a woman at ease in her role as both warrior and mother. A tendril of jealousy snaked through Arya, sinking its teeth into her soul.

"The easiest place for you to be would be the bow—the front. We will be busy maneuvering in the waters for the short trip and ropes can be precarious."

Jayna's blond brows dipped as she surveyed the deck. Her gaze lingered on each coiled rope, as if she memorized their place. She only looked up when the cabin door flung open and Paulo skidded out, followed by Gendry, who held his head in both hands.

"Do you feel better?" Brienne asked, grinning widely.

Gendry squinted at the women. "My stomach is empty and my head is swimming."

"I'll take that as a 'yes' then," Arya said. She guided the passengers to the bow as her crew emerged from below and began preparing to sail. "Paulo is my right hand and will help you with anything." The boy straightened his thin frame.

"Where are your shoes?" Jayna stepped forward to her small counterpart.

"Don't need 'em on a boat. And I grow too fast to keep 'em."

"What about splinters?"

"Don't feel 'em."

"Don't you get cold?"

"Iffin' I do, I just put on a pair of socks."

"What if they get wet?"

"I change them. Don't you ever go without shoes?"

Arya smiled and left to the helm, where her brother waited as a crow and its creepy third eye. "I'll bring Jon back," she said when it hoped onto the top wheel spoke. "I'll find an egg and hopefully we can figure it out. But I would like you to tell me why I have to lug around the lord of Storm's End."

The crow cawed in her face. It made her ears hurt.

"Fine. I'll figure that out, too. I always do."

Bran flew away.

Arya cleared her throat. This part was always her favorite. "Push off!" she yelled. The hurricane of following orders between the sailors was a tune she knew best. Overhead, the top sail unraveled and filled with the wind. The gangplank scraped the starboard side as it was pulled and stored. She and Robert relayed commands. Wood creaked and groaned as the ropes were cast off by dock hands. Finally, the clanking iron anchor chains rattled below her feet and the boat eased away from Kings Landing.

She couldn't help but see her human cargo at the front of the ship. Paulo gave Gendry something to eat, perhaps hardtack, then he and Jayna sat on the deck facing one another. Probably another round of questions. Brienne wedged herself against a rail and watched the children. Opposite, Gendry nibbled on his food and stared out across Blackwater Bay. Arya adjusted the rudder in small measures, as if that would help his stomach.

Midday, after the sun reached its zenith, Arya turned the wheel over to Robert and invited her friends to sit on some boxes near her cabin to eat. "My apologies that we do not have a dining hall," she said, passing out small sandwiches the cook had Paulo deliver. "We rarely take on passengers and eat in shifts."

"Like an army," Jayna suggested, launching into her meal like a rabid dog.

"A floating army," Paulo said, nodding.

Arya was impressed. "I see your mother taught you military tactics already."

Jayna's slight shoulders straightened under her blue tunic. "My mother teaches me everything. Even swordplay."

Paulo's mouth dropped. "You have a sword?"

Jayna pulled the thin blade near her waist. Arya caught Brienne's glance. "It has no name yet."

"It looks like Captain's!"

The girl regarded her sword and replaced it. She shoved the last of the sandwich into her mouth. "Muver taught meh lots of thuff."

"Do you know how to read star charts?" Paulo wiggled in his spot, knowing he'd trumped her. When she shook her head, he nodded. "I can teach you! Captain, permission to show the lady the charts?"

Arya grinned. "Granted." And the pair darted away, neither aware that at that same age, she'd seen more violence than a child should.

"Thank you," Brienne said. "Jayna has a way of … chasing off friends."

"Lucky for her, my boy has grown under my shadow and is used to that." Arya licked her fingers clean.

Gendry hadn't even made it halfway through his sandwich before he put it down and sipped some cold ginger tea. "Does he remember anything at all?"

Arya looked over her shoulder. "Other than the nightmares, no. And those are rare now."

"Thank the old gods and new," Brienne sighed. "No one should have to remember that."

"Have you had any ideas on how to find your brother?" Gendry asked, picking at the bread.

"None." Arya swiped the sandwich and proceeded to take a bite. "I'm hoping that by the time we reach home, Sansa will have something for me."

"By home you mean Winterfell?"

"Of course, stupid."

Brienne's laughter barked like a seal. "Forgive me, lord," she said with a grin. "I've missed this one's wit."

"Oh, it's still as sharp as her dagger," he said into the rim of his cup. He flicked his gaze to Arya's and captured hers. For a heartbeat, she regarded him as a man. A man she could—. She looked away to make it pass.

"Sam gave Paulo a book on dragons. I am hoping that he will give us some clues on where to find dragon eggs. Though from there, I will leave it to Jon to figure out."

"Captain," a deckhand called, nervously looking between the trio. "Robert Stone has asked me to fetch you."

She nodded to Brienne and Gendry and followed the weathered man back to the helm. "What is it?" Arya climbed the platform and looked to the west, where Robert's eyes stayed glued to the horizon.

"I believe that we will have clear skies tonight. But a storm will delay our arrival to Dragonstone." In all of their years at the wheel together, Robert Stone was never wrong about the weather. Not even once.

"Let's make haste, then." She took over the wheel while Robert ordered the crew to drop both mainsails. The white cloth snapped open. Both masts rasped and held fast. Her hair blew out behind her as they began to pick up speed.

And there she remained until dusk. The crew began their shifts, swapping duties below and above deck. Brienne and Jayna disappeared to her quarters. Paulo told her of a little alcove that fit him. Her feet ached from standing there for hours, but she held fast until Robert Stone silently pried the wheel from her hands. "You need sleep, Captain," he said with a nod. Compass and shielded lantern in hand, he moved her to the side and took charge of the vessel.

Arya grabbed the plate of cold meat and stale bread that had sat next to her for hours. She retreated to the stern deck, behind a small wall that blocked the wind. With her back against the wood, she watched the lights of Kings Landing grow smaller. One step closer to Sansa, and then Jon.

Her sister. Sansa had married a Northerner and had two children before her husband died. She didn't seem bothered by it in her letters. Only that the men in her small council seemed determined to marry her off again.

Arya wondered what her niece and nephew looked like. Did Eddard have dark hair like his father? Or was his sister Lyanna kissed by fire?

Winterfell had changed too, Sansa explained. Free Folk traded there and returned North. Babies were plentiful with the long cold winters. And she'd rebuilt Mother's glass garden. Maybe there'd be a lemon or two this year.

Kings Landing grew smaller and smaller still, until the lights disappeared behind Rosby's Horn. Arya rested her head against the wall. She still needed to grab bedding to sleep on the deck. It was still warm enough and she had no desire to bunk below. She'd figure out something different for the next night, if the storm hit, but it was good to watch the star and remember how very insignificant she truly was.

Exhaustion kept her awake after she'd laid down. The most she tried to make herself sleep, the more alert she became. Until finally, Arya stood and gripped the stern railing. Willing her eyes to close and relaxing her muscles, she fell into rhythm with the ocean—the fish and creatures below, the tide's ebb and flow. The week washed away into the salt water as she breathed deeply. It was enough to be out at sea again.

She jerked when something brushed her hand, muscles coiled into a fighting stance.

Gendy chuckled. "I don't ever think I've snuck up on you." He leaned onto the bannister.

Arya took two shaky breaths. She hadn't heard him coming and anyone could hear his footsteps one hundred paces away. Resuming her place at the rail, she was grateful it was dark so that he couldn't see the angry heat in her cheeks. It rendered her silent.

"You know that I can't lie to you," Gendry said, hesitating. The crescent moon lent no help to allow her to see his profile, but she felt him shift toward her. Their arms touched elbow to shoulder. He started to speak, then stopped with a sigh.

She stilled when he leaned closer, his forehead at her temple. "I think … I think that you should live your life. Take opportunities. Be honest. Be true to yourself. Tell them how you really feel." His lips dipped and he kissed her softly on the cheek. Full of every promise she ever denied herself.

"Because in the dark where no one can see you, you can be a lady. And I will never tell anyone."

For the second time in one evening, Gendry Baratheon shocked Arya Stark.


End file.
